


The Jane Austen Murder Club

by letsplaymurder (enoughiamagod)



Category: real life people - Fandom
Genre: Murder, Murder AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2081412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoughiamagod/pseuds/letsplaymurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a fic exchange for a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jane Austen Murder Club

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karebear94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karebear94/gifts).



Allison brought the knife to her face and grinned, blood staining the blade.  
This was her fourth kill, and the novelty hadn’t worn off yet.   
The body on the floor belonged to none other than (former) world famous singer Robin Thicke, whom she had been paid quite good money to eliminate from this world. You see, Allison was a contract killer, the best in the business (she was inexperienced, but she was also very good), and while she killed for a living, she liked to think she had standards. She’d taken the Thicke job only because she found him a creep, and his music offensive to the ears.   
She was practical like that.  
Her earpiece buzzed.   
“You done down there,” Alice, her very capable Quartermaster, buzzed in her ear. She touched the piece.  
“Yeah. Just gotta clean up.” Allison neatly folded the bloody plastic she had laid down and placed it in her sack. She climbed up to the roof.   
“Lift me outta here.”  
A silent helicopter, using technology not yet released to the government, flew overhead, and a rope was tossed down. She grabbed on, and the helicopter drifted off into the night.  
She was relaxing in her lair when her four best friends buzzed themselves in. They, too, were hired by the same company, though two of them did what they swore was completely legal work. The other two made no such claims.  
Corrie, a bartender who did more than tend bar, threw herself down on the couch, followed by Rachel and Karen, who did “strictly paperwork”, and Alice, Allison’s own Quartermaster.   
“Know anything about this,” Rachel asked, showing a paper with Robin Thicke found dead in bold print.   
“Nope,” Allison grinned. They all laughed. Alice smirked. She’d set up that hit very successfully, and from it, had gotten assigned to Allison permanently. There were perks to being Quartermaster that one would not believe.  
“You’ll never guess who our next assignment is,” she said. “Benedict C-. Big money. We taking?”  
They voted, 3 to 2, on taking the job. 

It was a typical hit, and as such, they decided on the usual plan.  
Allison suited up, in her black armor that laid against the skin and turned away knives and needles easily, and the rest of the team followed suit. Corrie, the bait, pulled her hair up in a sleek blonde ponytail and red lipstick. She was tending bar at Benedict’s party. Alice, who had paid a visit to the costuming department their boss held, threw dresses at Rachel and Karen, as well as earpieces.   
“You’re keeping tabs.”   
They reappeared minutes later in stunning formal dresses. Strapped to their thighs were knives, and a few other gadgets Alice had built. (“If anyone is bothering you, roofie them. I gave you a twelve pack. Oh and there’s an immobilizer gun, too.”)  
(Later on in their career they’d develop a reputation of being deadly beauties. This was not a false one.)  
Alice handed them the keys to a car they knew was incredibly dangerous. “Have fun,” she said with a grin. “Knock ‘em dead!”  
Corrie, Rachel, and Karen took off. They’d drop Corrie off around back, and then make a grand entrance.   
Alice handed Allison a dress she’d never seen before.   
“Stab-proof, doesn’t wrinkle, the sleeves are matched exactly to your skin so it hides anything you have on underneath. Try not to stain it.”  
Allison pulled it on. It was time.  
The party was in full swing when Allison stepped out of her car. Alice sped off, to set up her mobile command center. She was keeping eyes and directing activity.   
“Rachel, Karen, gimme the deets.”   
“Well,” Rachel said. “The party is gorgeous.”  
“Definitely,” Karen answered. This was part of their code, to be in conversation with each other while answering Alice’s questions.  
“Okay, I’ve found you on the screen. See Benedict anywhere?”  
“He’s across the room. Isn’t he handsome?” Rachel, with more than a hint of laughter.  
“So handsome. I wish we could talk to him.” Do we make contact?  
“Hold off until Allison gets in place. I’ll let you know.”  
Here. Spotted him. Going to bar. Allison texted to Alice.  
“Okay, Karen and Rachel, go ahead.”  
Alice watched on the video feed as they moved towards him. She looked at the other screen currently active, where Allison and Corrie were in place. It was going smoothly.

Allison slid into the seat at the bar. The dress was fantastic.  
“Can I have whatever your special drink is, on the rocks?”  
“Course.” Corrie poured her a water. “Drink up.” The glass Allison was drinking from would be taken by Corrie, and crushed, and then distributed in such a way that no one would know the glass existed. “Enjoying the party?”  
“Not as much as I’d like. How does one get an audience with the man of the hour, anyway?”  
The man sitting next to her turned around. Drunk. Allison knew five ways to immobilize him instantly.  
“Dunno, but I can give you any hour you’d like, pretty miss.” Corrie knocked over his glass.   
“I’m sorry, sir, let me make you another,” she said, and promptly roofied the drink. He drank it, while attempting to chat up Allison, until the drug kicked in and he fell asleep. Corrie motioned to security and they carried him away.  
Having the bartender on our side is incredibly useful, Allison thought, smiling.   
She turned back to her drink.  
Karen and Rachel spilt up. Their goal was to drive him to the bar, where Allison would swoop in. Karen approached first. In her best I adore you so much voice, she flirted with him. And flirted. And then, when he tried to shake her off, Rachel appeared. She deftly “dismissed” Karen, who sent in a text to Alice that the mark had been baited. Rachel charmed, and charmed, and charmed some more, until Benedict excused himself under the pretense of getting a drink from the bar.  
Corrie, who knew what he was going to order before he did, slipped a highly potent and as of now unnamed drug that rendered the taker highly suggestible, into her hand.   
Benedict approached the bar.

“Nice work, ladies,” Alice congratulated Karen and Rachel. “Keep an eye out, enjoy the party, get ready to get out of there.”

“I’ll take a scotch,” he rumbled to Corrie, and she smiled.  
“Coming right up, sir.” The drug was in, the drink poured and passed with a smile.  
“Thanks.” Allison turned to face him, leaning forward seductively.  
“So you’re the man of the hour,” she purred. Alice, listening in, tried not to laugh. She knew how much this must be killing Allison.  
“Unfortunately,” he said. “I hate these things.” His eyes flashed ruefully, and Allison felt the magnetic charm of the man.  
“Understandable,” she laughed. “Here, let me buy you a drink.” He could not find it in him to resist.  
A mere hour later, she had suggested rather cheekily that they find a private area, and he had agreed.

“Rachel, Karen, lock down the east wing.”   
The two ladies excused themselves from the party, wandered upstairs, and set to work.

East Wing. Allison checked her phone. Got it.  
She pulled Benedict to the east wing, giggling. “There’s gotta be a room around here…”  
Rachel and Karen had done their job well. A door was open, and plastic laid down, as if under construction. Allison knew, however, that this plastic would disappear in under five minutes.   
Benedict leaned in, to kiss her, and she dodged it, laughing. Best to play easy. A knife would be too messy. Poison would be her best bet. How to deliver it, though, was the trick. She had a pill she could give him, but that would be difficult.   
The solution presented itself in a moment, as Benedict pulled out a case of needles.  
“Cocaine?”  
“I didn’t know you used.”  
“I picked it up playing Sherlock.” Allison wondered if this had something to do with the job she was carrying out.  
“Only if you let me shoot you up.”  
“That sounds hot,” he said, and handed her the needle. She dipped it in the poison, quickly and discreetly, and then plunged it into his neck.  
“Sorry,” she said, as she gathered up the evidence in the room. He didn’t answer, and she didn’t expect him to.

When they reconvened at her lair later that night, they celebrated by eating the food Corrie had stolen on her way out and playing board games.   
Another successful hit under their belts, they knew they had found the perfect calling in life.  
“Best friends,” Allison raised a toast, and the others echoed it. “May there always be people to kill and money to earn.”  
They laughed and raised their glasses.


End file.
